


pour some sugar on me

by skatingsplits



Category: Bodyguard (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, David Budd is whipped, F/M, We all want Julia Montague to top us and David is no exception, i'm trash, poor David is surrounded by Tories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15983033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: 'I'm sorry, are you deaf or just stupid? I said a dry martini, this is so sweet you might as well have poured golden syrup straight down my throat'- in which our Romeo and Juliet meet in somewhat different circumstances.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Fuck you, Jed.  
> 2\. An alternate universe in which David is a bartender in an upmarket bar frequented by hot shot city people, including everyone's favourite ruthless divorce lawyer, Julia Montague. Nobody dies.

If there was one thing David Budd could say for his job as a Bartender, it was rarely dull. True, there was a certain amount of monotony in the constant pouring of bottles, frosting of glasses and clicking of coins, but the sheer variety of human life that passed before his eyes more than made up for it. Happy couples celebrating engagements, excitable teenagers marking the ascent into adulthood, rowdy hen parties, lonely divorcees, arrogant business men; these were just a selection of the various subsects of society that he helped to get steadily drunker and drunker five nights a week. The pay was decent, he liked his co-workers, it left him with plenty of time to spend with the kids. Most importantly of all, it was as dissimilar to his time in the army as it was possible for any job to be, something for which David found himself growing more and more grateful. Nevertheless, some days- and in particular, some customers- were more of a headache than 5am bootcamp training.

  
‘I'm sorry, are you deaf or just stupid? I said a dry martini, this is so sweet you might as well have poured golden syrup straight down my throat' the smartly dressed figure making the complaint was a vaguely familiar sight but not exactly a welcome one. On the young side of middle age, never seen without both a blazer and a frown, the woman brandishing a martini glass at him was one of many of her type who frequented the bar. One of the perils of working at a nice place in central London, he reflected, was having to deal with people who had more entitlement in their little fingers than David thought he'd ever felt in his life. More than that, to have to deal with them with a smile on his face when most of the time he'd have rather told them to go and fuck themselves was almost as much of a challenge as any screaming drill sergeant. Nevertheless, he took the woman's glass with a nod, even though he was positive he'd made her drink correctly the first time.

  
‘Very sorry, miss, I must have misheard' he acquiesced, forcing a brief, polite smile onto his features but his customer wasn't paying attention, already looking back at the phone in her hand. David was more than used to this; he doubted if he'd ever worked a single shift where someone with a cut-glass accent hadn't treated him like he was subhuman so his mood was mostly unaffected as he mixed her another martini. He could make this drink blindfolded with one hand behind his back so, as his customer was paying him absolutely no attention whatsoever, he took the time to analyse her. He was fairly certain he'd seen her before but truthfully, half of the bar's female clientele looked so similar, especially in the post-happy hour/pre-night out mêlée of well-to-do office workers. This particular example was somewhere around forty, well-dressed in a way David didn't have the vocabulary to articulate, and undeniably attractive despite the somewhat sour look on her face. He silently placed the replacement cocktail in front of her and moved down behind the bar to serve yet another irritable patron in a blazer, the dry martini woman fading from his mind. Until, that is, the throng of lawyers and office workers gradually faded away and he looked up to see her still sitting at the bar, two more empty martini glasses joining the one he had made her to create a barrier that didn't allow him to see the papers she was intently flicking through. He didn't realise that he was staring at her until she suddenly looked up and met his eyes. Quickly looking away, he made a show of tidying the bottles in front of him until a surprisingly soft voice made him look up again.

  
‘Could I have another martini, please?’ the woman was still looking at him, the frown no longer wrinkling her brow. He nodded in acknowledgement of her order, not letting his face display the surprise he felt at hearing the word ‘please' come out of this woman's mouth as he silently mixed her drink and tried not to reflect on the slight swoop he'd felt in his stomach when the corners of her mouth had turned up. Handing her the beverage, his fingertips briefly met hers and he had to stop himself from flinching. She smiled as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, even though he wasn't quite sure himself. As surprised as he'd been when she said please, it couldn't have prepared him for what she said next.

  
‘Sorry I was such a bitch earlier. I'm a little stressed' she looked ruefully at her very large stack of paper ‘but that's absolutely no excuse. Can you possibly forgive me?’ David was absolutely stunned. He had no idea what to say but managed to blurt out:

  
‘Nothing to forgive, miss. Trust me, I hear much worse on a daily basis' He made an attempt at a smile. It was certainly true; he may not have appreciated her snide remark but it had barely scratched the surface of the rudeness he experienced very regularly. He may have been used to that but he was definitely not used to people apologising for it.

  
‘Julia, my name is Julia. And other people being awful to you doesn't mean I have any right to do so too' if she had an ulterior motive, David couldn't begin to guess what it was. A genuine smile crossed his face and as she moved to hand him a £20 note, he waved her away.

  
‘On the house, miss- Julia’ her answering smile was absolutely worth the free drink, before she looked back to her papers and they didn't speak again until his shift was nearly over.

  
‘Thank you for the drink.’ He couldn't deny that, no matter how irritating he usually found the surplus of plummy accents that surrounded him at work, there was something attractive about her voice. She was standing, papers tucked into the crook of her arm, and he didn't have time to do anything more than smile at her before she had turned on her heel and weaved through her fellow patrons until she had disappeared. The rest of the evening passed in a flash and, beyond a few idle speculations, David put the woman with the charming smile and contradictory personality out of his mind.

           xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If there was one thing that made Julia Montague feel better after a dreadful day at the office, it was a dry gin martini. As depressing as that might have been to admit, given the frequent tendency of people in her profession towards alcoholism, it was nevertheless true, and in Julia's experience, the best gin martinis in London could be found at the Lavender Grove, an understated but expensive little bar hidden away behind Carnaby Street. So, after a truly awful Monday, filled with angry voicemails from her ex-husband, crying clients in her office and endless condescension from her boss, Julia headed as usual to the Lavender Grove. Normally, she tucked herself away in a booth, files spread over the table so she could work as she drank, and ignored dirty looks from other patrons judging her for taking a whole table to herself. On this particular day, however, every single booth was occupied. So, mood so black that the clouds above her head were surely visible, she took one of the last remaining seats at the bar, laying out as many documents in front of her as she could. Her mind was focused entirely on the Caswell divorce case so she hardly looked up while ordering her usual and started skimming through the deposition transcript Rob had emailed her. A drink was placed in front of her and she took a sip, instantly twisting her mouth as the sweetness of the vermouth hit her taste buds. Some people, her inner monologue seethed, were just fucking incompetent. She'd had to spend the day in high stakes meetings with not one but three hysterically crying wives talking about their cheating husbands and trying to stem the murderous thoughts about her own with a sympathetic smile on her face, and someone whose actual job it was couldn't even make her a fucking drink?

  
‘I'm sorry, are you deaf or just stupid? I said a dry martini, this is so sweet you might as well have poured golden syrup straight down my throat’ she snapped at her bartender, pausing to really look at him for the first time as his head shot up on hearing the brusqueness in her voice. It would have been shallow to say actually seeing his face made her slightly regret the sharpness in her voice but it would also not have been completely untrue. Julia’s mind was usually working at far too fast a pace to really pay attention to the dubious good looks of servers but really, the man's eyes were startlingly blue (even if the smile on his face was very obviously fake).

  
‘Very sorry, miss, I must have misheard’ the accent was quite nice too, she thought, shaking her head slightly as she made a concerted effort to go back to her emails. Another glass was discretely placed in front of her before long but she didn't quite trust herself to look up at the man who had placed it there. Instead, she focused intently on her phone and then her files, time ticking away as the furrow in her brow grew deeper and deeper. Most of the people around her had left by the time she became aware of the sensation of someone's eyes upon her creeping up her spine. Her eyes snapped up and met the rather dreamy blue ones she'd admired earlier. Those eyes looked away just as quickly, focusing on some other menial task, but Julia kept hers trained on him. Her observant gaze noted that even though he was usually smiling at a customer, the expression his face fell back into naturally was not a happy one. She wasn't quite wracked with guilt over her earlier rudeness- Julia was very seldom wracked with guilt over anything- but she still wished she hadn't been quite so horrible.

  
‘Could I have another martini, please?’ She made her voice as soft as she was able while still being audible over the hum of conversation, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly when he met her gaze. Her bartender nodded and turned his attention to making her drink, allowing her eyes to wander over the strong line of his jaw and the muscles in his neck. She hadn't torn her gaze away when he turned back to her and held the drink out for her to take. A more idealistic person might have said that she felt a frisson as their fingers touched but being the pragmatic woman she was, Julia focused not on the touching of the hands but on the way he visibly swallowed and one of the aforementioned muscles in his neck jumped. Despite herself, she smiled.

  
‘Sorry I was such a bitch earlier’ she said, keeping her gaze locked on him as she put her phone down ‘I'm a little stressed but that's absolutely no excuse. Can you possibly forgive me?’ Julia had put on her “I'm-secretly-a-lovely-person-trust-me" voice that she usually saved for stubborn clients who weren't inclined to give their confidences to a shark.

  
‘Nothing to forgive, miss. Trust me, I hear much worse on a daily basis' a quick smile flashed onto the man's face and Julia, always goal-orientated, became determined to get him to smile again.

  
‘Julia, my name is Julia. And other people being awful to you doesn't mean I have any right to do so too' she fished in her purse for something to pay him with and felt a somewhat unexpected thrill run down her spine when he smiled and motioned for her to put her money away.

  
‘On the house, miss- Julia’ he replied, and Julia found the smile on his face incredibly satisfying, even more so than the sensation of gin running down her throat and she couldn't deny feeling a sliver of disappointment when he turned to take the order of a man sitting two stools away from her. Get a hold of yourself, the little voice in the back of her head remonstrated, and she reluctantly turned back to the endless list of assets the unfortunate Caswells were fighting over. Listlessly, she trawled through the pages, the fire she'd felt about the case earlier in the day somewhat diminished. Eventually, she piled her papers back into their file, albeit rather slowly as she surreptitiously waited for her bartender to drift back over to her seat. He was still not paying her attention when she finally readied herself to leave but she found herself unable to just slink off into the night.

  
‘Thank you for the drink’ she heard herself say almost before she realised what she was doing, and when their eyes met again she couldn't quite restrain a genuine smile that surprised her so much she didn't wait for him to reply but bolted straight out of the door and into the cool London night.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julia Montague is the only Tory I will ever love.

In the normal run of life, a week didn't usually go by in which Julia Montague didn't pay a visit to Lavender Grove; the rather extreme pressures of high profile divorce cases had led to a slight dependency on alcohol that she really didn't have time to examine too closely, and the pleasant atmosphere of the bar was so much less depressing than drinking alone in the house that she didn't spend enough time in to make cosy. It was unusually soon, however, after her encounter with the nameless Scottish bartender that she’d found herself going back through those ivy-covered double doors. _There was absolutely no correlation between the two things_ , she’d told herself, even as she quickly checked her reflection in her ever-present Estée Lauder compact. She'd just had the day from hell and was desperate for one of the Grove’s delicious gin martinis, that was all.

This rationalisation did not, however, stop the undeniable elevation of her heart rate as she made her way through the doors. It also didn't stop her from some fierce self-berating when she caught herself tucking her hair behind her ear like a bloody sixteen year old with a schoolgirl crush. She didn't even know a single thing about the man apart from the fact that he had ridiculously blue eyes and the jawline of a Greek god. Even those things were somewhat in doubt; she had been five drinks deep, after all, and she'd been sleeping alone for so long that Fred fucking West might start to look attractive in the right light.

But no; as she made her way through the quite crowded room, she caught a glimpse of the brown curls she'd been fixating on for two days and immediately swung to the right, making a beeline for the only free table in sight and depositing herself there with a sigh. Probably for the best that she'd wussed out, she told herself, rather than following through with any of the half-baked ideas she'd had about trying to strike up a natural conversation with a man who was essentially a stranger. That night, she stayed only for one drink, finding that even with a martini in hand, sitting by herself and staring at records of other people's failed marriages wasn't quite as much fun as it used to be.

  
So, the next time Julia plucked up the courage to visit her favourite drinking establishment, instead of diving for a free table, she found herself taking a seat at the bar before she had time to really think about it. Eyes darting from side to side, she craned her neck as subtly as possible before sagging back in defeat. He wasn't there. Not that it mattered, she quickly reminded herself, all she really wanted was a drink and it couldn't matter less if the person making it for her looked like Cary Grant or Phil Mitchell. Looking into a pair of Sinatra-level blue eyes while drinking it would just have been an added bonus. As it was, she ordered her martini from a young blonde woman, barely noticing her own snappishness.

Within seconds, her heart rate had stabilised, her brow had furrowed and her eyes were glued to her BlackBerry. Her head was full of assets and subpoenas when a quiet voice interrupted her reverie and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  
‘Another?’ it took some serious effort for her to stop her mouth from dropping open when a voice she pinned as Glaswegian rang in her ears. She looked up, heart in her mouth, but kept her face as impassive as she could manage which, for a woman used keeping her emotions in check in stormy marital mediation sessions, was fairly stony. Her eyes locked with a pair of blue ones that had earned themselves a pretty permanent place in her visual imagination. The man in question had a slight smile on his face, was gathering abandoned glasses from the bar and had a towel slung over his shoulder like the Ted-Danson-in-Cheers fantasies of the dreams of her youth. Julia suddenly realised she was staring at him in dumb silence and immediately jumped to her senses.

  
‘Yes, please, that would be wonderful' _get a grip, Montague. Just because he's been the star of your sordid little midlife crisis fantasies doesn't mean he even remembers you; he's probably served a hundred martinis to a hundred well-preserves forty year olds since then. Not everybody is so starved for affection they fixate on ten seconds of eye contact as an indicator of great romance._

  
‘I was in here the other day, you made me a martini. Quite an excellent one, in fact.’ Not ground-breaking as conversation starters go, but Julia was determined to at least appear to be a normal human being in front of her still-anonymous new friend.

  
‘I remember' was all he said, and she felt an unfamiliar wave of embarrassment. They had sunk into a silence that wasn't exactly awkward but certainly wasn't comfortable; she would have characterised it as spiky, pointed, laden with something.. She ran a hand through her hair, unable to stop herself from checking her reflection in the mirror backed bar. When she looked back, he was still looking at her and she broke into laughter at being caught red-handed in her vanity. His mouth curled into a warm smile and the sense of tension seemed to almost melt away. Those eyes she was so taken with were appraising her but Julia found she didn't mind at all.

  
‘I noticed your mysterious papers the other day. What is it, state secrets?’ Christ, his voice was hot.

  
‘Nothing nearly as interesting. A list of all of the material assets of Mr and Mrs Jonathan Bennett, soon to be divvied up and consume all of my waking moments for the next two months' she smiled before clarifying ‘I'm a divorce lawyer, currently representing the soon-to-be-ex Mrs Jonathan Bennett in her sueing her husband for flagrant infidelity.’

  
‘A divorce lawyer? That's not what I would guessed, miss' Julia had to actively stop herself from smiling like a lovesick idiot and made a show of raising her eyebrows.

  
‘It's Julia, I told you. And what would you have guessed, exactly?’ She took a sip of her second drink to hide the beam threatening to spill across her face when her gaze fell on the strong hands wiping down the bar and a glint of gold caught her eye. _Fuck_. Of course the hot Scottish man who supplied her with alcohol was taken. Not that it mattered, she chastised herself, she was allowed a harmless little crush regardless of his relationship status.

  
‘I don't know, a prettier Alan Sugar, maybe?’ She was sure he was teasing her but she couldn't have minded less.   
‘Do you specialise in wronged wives? I could put you onto mine, I'm sure she could use you' half of Julia’s brain wanted to make a catty comment about being sure his wife couldn't afford her; while the other half was sending fireworks into the atmosphere at the apparent information that his marriage was in tatters.

  
‘You could' she said coyly ‘But then, that might put us on less than friendly terms, mightn't it?’

  
‘It might, aye' he replied, looking at her in a way that made her badly feel the need to loosen her collar. ‘And we wouldn't want that, would we?’ Where barely three minutes earlier she'd been convinced that she was completely imagining any glint of interest in his eyes, this was unmistakable. He was absolutely flirting with her and she suddenly found that she didn't give a fuck whether or not this was a tactic to get better tips, a strategy for dealing with overly-friendly tipplers or he actually was interested, as long as he didn't stop doing it.

  
‘You never told me your name' she presented it as a statement, rather than a question, hoping to at least appear as if she wasn't dying to know what it was.

  
‘I didn't, you're right' he paused, decanting the contents of the cocktail shaker in his hand into the glass in front of him and placing it in front of her, even though she hadn't asked for anything. ‘It's David' he said, and immediately made his way to the other end of the bar, taking the order of a group of bankers and leaving Julia somewhat stunned. David, she thought, the word rolling around her head as she took a sip of the orange liquid he'd given her. It wasn't quite familiar but it certainly was delicious, and she wondered what had prompted him to make it for her. Her drink was finished in no time but instead of trying to get the attention of her new friend- _David_ , she reminded herself- Julia found that her feet were swinging down from the barstool and she was making her way towards the exit.

Whether it was self-preservation or pure cowardice, she wasn't completely sure but in what seemed like moments she was enveloped inside a taxi hurtling towards Mayfair, her encounter having done absolutely nothing to dispel the worryingly mammoth attraction she had to a man who made his living pulling pints. She'd spent the whole drive home lamenting her own lack of self control so it wasn't until the car pulled up outside her house and she reached into her handbag that she realised she'd managed to leave her purse as well as her dignity at the Lavender Grove. Cursing, she fished inside her blazer pocket for something to pay the driver and walked up to her front door telling herself off even more severely than before. _Imagine being forty two years old and going so dippy over a man you don't even know that you leave your fucking platinum American Express card halfway across London because you were too busy wondering what it would be like to shag him in his fucking workplace bathroom_. Once inside, she flopped down on her living room sofa far too dramatically considering she had no audience. She'd have to go back, she knew, but somehow the slightest chance of David thinking she'd left her purse there deliberately as an excuse to talk to him again was worse than the thought of a miscreant having a night out on her dime.

Even as she thought this, however, she was picking up her keys to go out again and tutting at herself for not asking the taxi to wait. She'd just reached the front door when the bell attached to it rang and she started in surprise. Her hand already halfway to the handle, she turned it tentatively and if a horde of dancing elephants had come to kidnap her, Julia couldn't have been more surprised at what lay behind it.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Please forgive typos etc. it's 1am and I'm a tired bisexual.

David couldn’t claim to have ever been a spontaneous person, at least where his personal life was concerned. In the army, of course, thinking on his feet had been necessary, but ever since he'd been discharged he'd settled in to a safe, comfortable pattern. Even splitting with Vicky hadn't disrupted that much, it just meant that he conducted his routine in an empty apartment instead of an overcrowded house. This, what he was doing now, was definitely not part of that routine.

  
This woman, who he knew nothing about other than her first name and the fact that her smile made his stomach tighten every time he saw it, had left her purse at the bar and apparently the reasonable reaction to this had been to snatch it up and immediately swing out of the door, not stopping to pick up his jacket or tell his supervisor he was leaving half an hour early. More people than he could count had left their belongings behind in the time he'd been working at Lavender Grove and never once had he done anything more than sling the stuff into a box in the office. He'd certainly never before jumped into a taxi as soon as he'd read the address on the driving licence and sped across London to immediately return someone's belongings.

  
_Julia Montague_ , he repeated over and over in his head, letting the words roll off his tongue regardless of the odd look the taxi driver gave him. The madness of what he was doing didn't really occur to him until the cab was slowing down and he was paying the driver a fee he really couldn't afford and leaping onto the pavement. She'd probably send him away with a flea in his ear, that is if she didn't think he was a stalker and call the police. He'd definitely thought that whatever he'd felt between them had been more than his wishful thinking but that didn't mean she'd be perfectly happy for a man she'd exchanged barely five minutes of conversation with to turn up at her home address. Still, he was here now, he thought as he approached her front door, and it wasn't as if he didn't have a valid reason; she would need her purse back, after all.

He rang the doorbell before he could stop himself, trying to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. The handle turned almost instantly, barely giving him a chance to catch his breath before he was met with the sight of the woman he was effectively currently stalking. It sounded cliché but he felt like a lightning bolt went through him and she looked as though one was going through her, although he suspected in her case it was more “why has this strange man followed me home?” and less “I'd really like to fuck this strange woman against her front door". He suddenly realised he hadn't actually said anything and held up her wallet, stammering to get the words out.

  
‘I brought your... uh’ he trailed off, holding the item in question out towards her. She was definitely looking at him like he was an alien but at least she hadn't told him to fuck off.

  
‘Yes, erm, thank you’ she took it from him, examining him in a manner he couldn't read. ‘Do you want to come inside?’ David very much wanted to come inside but he hadn't expected her to offer so he just stared at her for an awkward amount of time before he nodded and stepped through the doorway. She gave him an amused glance and beckoned him to follow her into what was evidently the living room, before motioning for him to sit down. 

  
‘You really came all the way across town to drop my purse off? Does the Lavender Grove offer personalised return service on all lost property?’

  
‘No, uh, I just thought... you might need it' he finished lamely. His hostess was properly smiling now, and she stalked over to the drinks cabinet opposite his seat. The cabinet was really the only personalised thing about the room; no photographs hung on the walls, there were no ornaments or decorations, nothing to suggest that anybody actually lived there. He didn't have time to reflect on his observations, however, before a cold glass was being pressed into his hand and Julia Montague was perching herself on the arm of the sofa.

  
‘You were right' David took a sip of what turned out to be whiskey without taking his eyes away from her face ‘And I'm eternally grateful to have it back but I can't help wondering why you bothered.’

  
‘Maybe I just wanted to see you again' he certainly hadn't intended to say that out loud.

  
‘Ah, well, now we're getting somewhere' she didn't look angry or uncomfortable, true, but the wry smile playing across her lips was making his skin itch in a way he just couldn't stand. 

  
‘Look, thank you for the drink, I'm sorry for... I'm just sorry’ he leapt to his feet and was turning to the door when she did the same and her hand came to rest on his shoulder. In a flash, he'd wheeled back around again and before he knew what he was doing, he had closed the gap between them and pressed his mouth to hers. She didn't hesitate for a moment. He vaguely registered the crash of glass breaking and then her hands were in his hair, her nails scraping roughly against his scalp and making him shudder as he kissed her harder, pressing his tongue into her mouth and backing her up until her back hit the wall. His hands moved to shed her of her jacket before finding her hips and squeezing tightly enough to make her gasp against his lips.

  
‘I feel I should tell you' she said breathlessly when he broke away to press kisses on the side of her neck ‘I don't normally do this sort of thing with any strange bloke who shows up at my front door.’

  
‘Same here, absolutely' he murmured, barely registering her words as he nipped at her throat and the smell of her perfume filled his head.

  
‘Can't even blame the alcohol' he heard her say as his fingers busily worked at the buttons of her blouse.

  
‘Well, I certainly feel intoxicated' he said, slipping her shirt off her shoulders so that he could duck his head and kiss and suck at the exposed skin of her collarbone. Her sharp nails scraped over the nape of his neck as she gave a low chuckle and when he felt his hips buck into her he didn't know if it was from the physical or aural stimulation. He was just reaching down to try and locate the zip on her trousers when her warm hand closed over his and he looked up into her darkened eyes.

  
‘I do have a bedroom, you know' he'd been half-joking but the smile on her face really was intoxicating. David knew she expected him to step back and let her lead him upstairs but he couldn't stop himself from leaning back into her and kissing her again; her mouth was immediately open against his, and she gave a small hum of satisfaction. When he pulled back, he was sure he looked ridiculously, embarrassingly besotted as he gazed down at her but couldn't seem to care. She just threaded her fingers through his and lead him through an equally sparsely-furnished hallway to the stairs. He briefly wondered why she kept her house so clinical but by the time they were up the staircase and into the hallway that presumably led to her room, he found himself pressed up against her back and was far too occupied in pressing kisses to her neck to dwell on it further. Her pace slowed as she pressed up back against him, letting her head lull back on his shoulder and he took the opportunity to run the tip of his tongue along the outside of her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. He was gratified to feel her shiver.

  
‘You know, I think the bedroom might be too far’ Julia murmured.

  
‘Is that not it, less than a metre away?’ He asked, amused, before nipping at her earlobe again.

  
‘It's too far' she repeated, circling her hips back against him. He clenched his jaw to stop any noise escaping but kept walking forward anyway until she put her hands out to stop herself colliding with the wall.

  
‘You know I'd be happy to just have you right here but you're wearing trousers which makes this a little more difficult' he trailed his hand down between her legs to press his index finger against the seam of the trousers in question.

‘Not up to a challenge, David?’ he'd never understood stories like that of Helen of Troy. Being a soldier, in his experience, made you appreciate the value of human life too much to be willing to throw that much away for a woman but the combination of soft skin under his lips and the sinfully delicious tone of her voice made him think that he might finally be able to comprehend it. 

‘Not willing to do anything to delay me being inside you' she laughed at that, low and (he thought) self-satisfied. ‘Next time’ he promised and she shot him an amused look from darkened eyes.

  
‘Who says there's going to be a next time?’

  
‘You will, once I get you behind that door' David wasn't sure what made him so vocally forward but it was true what he'd said earlier; he really did feel drunk on Julia Montague.

  
‘Cocky' was all she said, but with a shuddering breath she grabbed his hand and entwined her fingers with his to pull him through her bedroom door.

The moment he closed the door behind them, Julia was shedding her trousers to the floor, closely followed by the rest of her clothes. David was slightly disappointed to not get the chance to assist in this endeavour but the thought was quickly banished from his mind when she stepped back towards him and her hands immediately went to the buckle of his belt. In what simultaneously seemed like hours and the briefest of seconds, his clothes had joined hers on the floor and a gloriously naked Julia Montague stepped back to survey her handiwork. He could do little more than stare at her in what was probably embarrassingly obvious appreciation before she all but lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his own as he kissed her and stumbled towards the bed.

As soon as they tumbled onto it, David found himself on his back with this Aphrodite-esque figure hovering above him. She leaned down to kiss him and he was grateful for the opportunity to run his hands over the soft skin of her back, her chest, her hips. He was even more grateful to whatever it was that had facilitated this happening between them; for her evidently reciprocating the attraction he'd felt from the moment he first saw her, for having had an excuse to come to her home, for the euphoric pain-pleasure of her nails digging into his shoulder and her tongue in his mouth.

  
After what seemed like hours, she pulled back, surveying him with a dangerous smile; her hair was messy from the tangling of his fingers in it, there was lipstick all over her mouth as he was sure there was on his, and David wouldn't have been at all surprised if his heart had stopped beating there and then. At least, that's what he thought until she rose up onto her knees and, without a word, sunk down onto him, and no, this, surely, was the moment his heart would stop beating. The little moan she gave as she did so could have been bottled and used as a very effective murder weapon, he thought feverishly, before she started to move and all capacity for rational thought left his body. She lowered herself forward so she could kiss him again but he could barely focus on her lips when she felt so good around him. He gripped her hips firmly in his hands, digging his fingers into her hard enough to leave little red crescent-shaped marks there when he drew them back a little.

Her breathing grew more and more laboured as her lips trailed down his throat, gasping against his skin as her hands twisted around the bedclothes, moving faster and faster.  
He managed to pull himself out of the haze of pleasure enough to tighten his grip on her hips, eliciting a hiss, and thrust up to meet her. At that, she let out a noise that he needed to hear again immediately so he held onto her tighter, stopping her from writhing over him so he could press back up into her and make her make that noise again. She straightened up a little, running a hand through her hair as the other reached down to where their bodies met and started to make small circles there until his rough hand covered her smooth one and the movements became harder and more erratic. Julia's head was thrown back and he couldn't take his eyes off the smooth line of her throat as she swallowed; the overwhelmingly erotic noises she made and the way her thighs were shaking urged him on and on until she shattered around him, an image that David was sure would stay ingrained in his mind for the rest of his life.

He felt indescribably on edge and it only took a moment for the bewitching woman on top of him to catch her breath and start moving again, faster and faster until he didn't think he could do anything but dig his nails into her skin and listen to her deliciously rasping breaths. He was gazing up at her, transfixed by the movement of her body and the pulse jumping in her throat, and all it took was the curving of her lips into a satisfied smile before he was coming, hands bruisingly tight on her skin and her still unfamiliar name on his lips.

When he finally felt he could breathe and move again, she was lying by his side, her foot lightly trailing over the inside of his calf. Even post-orgasm, he thought Helen of Troy had been an appropriate comparison.

  
‘I'm going to regret this tomorrow’ she said and he felt his stomach drop.

  
‘Thanks very much' he grimaced, running a hand over his damp brow.

  
‘Hm?’ She had propped herself up on one elbow to look at him.

  
‘Well, it's not exactly complimentary. I know you're pretty far out of my league whatever way you want to look at it, but it's still not my idea of fun to hear that you already find me repulsive’ David tried to sound as though he didn't feel like someone had just dropped an anvil on him but he wasn't sure he'd succeeded. Julia laughed.

  
‘Exactly the opposite, I'm afraid’ he met her eyes with a quizzical look and she just shook her head. ‘Doesn't matter.’ She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘Look, I'm going to have a shower; you are more than welcome to stay or go, David...’ She paused ‘How absurd; I don't even know your last name.’

  
‘Budd' he said, in the expectant silence that followed.

  
‘Well, David Budd, if you want to sneak off into the night, I promise you I won't be offended.’ She stood up and smiled down at him in a way he couldn't deny made his stomach do a somersault. ‘If, however, you want to stay- Well, I have a very large shower' she quirked an eyebrow before disappearing into the ensuite and David suddenly found that he'd never been more grateful in his life for the miracles of modern plumbing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame this on how much I want Keeley Hawes to top me, I'm not sorry.


End file.
